Thinking of You
by elm77
Summary: Fragments or snapshots of Booth and Bones while they are apart for a year. One shot.


Sunlight streams through the canopy of dense leaves, painting the sand with its yellow rays. The heat is wet, a blanket that smothers you with its dew. You throw yourself into work with vigor. Anything to numb the loneliness you feel. Night is obsidian. The moon a crescent that hangs from the sky, its silvery light a river on the sand. Crickets chirp incessantly in the branches, their cacophony a soundtrack that is hard to ignore. Sleep is dreamless, when it eventually comes. You are lucky to get four hours a night, because, your thoughts are full of him.

The sun is a dragon, breathing fire on the back of your neck. Sweat stings your eyes, drips off your chin and stains the yellow sand ochre. Muffled explosions paint orange Rorschach's on the horizon, each one seemingly closer than before. Fear pervades the younger members of your team, and their inexperience makes you nervous, but not enough that is kills the buzz of adrenaline. The days are hot and long, and the nights cold and lonely. You wrap your blanket tighter around your chest and pretend you can't hear the soldier in the next tent crying. Or feel the persistent ache in your feet. Your thoughts are filled with piercing blue eyes. And your dreams of her throaty laugh.

The days merge into weeks. You remain aloof with your colleagues. It is easier to become the Dr Brennan of old. He taught you to open yourself up, but you feel like a flower deprived of sunlight, its petals closed to its heart inside. You work. You eat. You sleep. Fitfully.

And still, you think of him.

The passing of the sun counts as your calendar, your countdown to meeting her, at the reflecting pool, by the coffee cart. You remember coffee tasting good, and you grimace as you pour the oily liquid into the sand. You embrace the regiment of army life. It keeps you focused. Alert. It occupies your mind, because your dreams are still haunted by beautiful beryl eyes, and when you close your eyes at night the jasmine that floats on the breeze reminds you of the scent of her hair.

Two months have passed, slowly. You find the work extremely interesting. You enjoy the spirited debate that inevitably ensues with every new finding. You take comfort in the laborious and pain staking nature of your work as it keeps the thoughts of his mocha eyes at bay, at least until night time, when you lie alone in your tent, and you miss the touch of his hand in the small of your back. You finally give in to the emotion and as tears track down your cheeks, you wonder if he thinks of you, as the moon crests the sky.

You have lost weight. Shadows etched in the hollows of your eyes haunt you as you stare into your reflection whilst shaving. You run the razor over the angle of your jaw and you wonder for the millionth time how it would feel to have her lips pressed there. You wonder if she thinks of you, alone at night in her tent, as her hands move over her body...

Irritated by Ms Wick, you find yourself on the outskirts of the group once more. A loner. That's what you have been your whole life. You walk along the beach, the sand ripples between your toes and the amarythine sun sets in a burst of lilac clouds. The water laps the beach softly and you lose yourself as you hold your face to the dying sun, its rays caressing your face gently. You carry your sandals in your hand and the breeze is a whisper over your sun burnished skin. You look behind you and suddenly realize you are not alone. You turn, crouch down, and smile Hello, and the child watches you, her corkscrew curls blowing in the wind.

You walk back to the armory, the sun crouching low in the sky. Your boots crunch on the gravel and it is a soothing staccato that accompanies you. You look around you, at the barren landscape, the grey mountains that reach their craggy hands to the sky. Smoke as black as the starless night swirls upwards from the pumpkin flames of an exploded car. Its acrid fumes sear your throat and you wish for an ice cold beer. Your shadow stretches ahead of you as the sun descends and you realize you are not alone. The hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention and you turn suddenly, ready to confront the faceless assailant. A dog stares back at you, its ribs visible underneath its mangy coat. Its eyes implore you and you whistle, watching it as it trots uncertainly towards you, and as it licks your foot, you smile.

You are halfway through your sabbatical, and today was an exciting day. You found evidence you had long suspected to be true and it was a momentous occasion, a truly remarkable find that would elevate your already lofty position within your field. Your colleagues wanted to celebrate and you let your guard down marginally, sipping luke warm wine the color of honey as the sun streamed through the trees. You felt proud of yourself, of your achievement, and accepted the compliments and congratulations with a small smile on your face. Later, when the sun burned the clouds from the lavender sky, you walked along the beach, trying not to acknowledge the presence of the handsome doctor you admired, as he watched you. Anila met you on the bluff, under a palm tree bowed in the wind, and gave you a flower which you wore in your hair, the scent of gardenia something you would forever associate with the little you walked back to your tent, Dr Marshall fell into step with you, and you let him, discussing the days findings spiritedly. But, as you slept in your tent, alone that night, you wished Booth had been the one to celebrate with.

The day was the worst yet. Pregnant clouds the color of steel hung forebodingly over your camp, and the dog startled easily, growling at the team was ambushed as you drove through a checkpoint, and you had to fire your weapon, with the intent to kill. The staccato of bullets echoed your heartbeat as you ducked and rolled behind the ancient jeep, crusted with grime. A shout, a dull thud, and one of your soldiers was down, immobile in the dusty sand. Rain plummeted from the sky in an angry barrage, causing the scent of oil and ozone to swirl around you as you hastily pulled on the soldier's trousers, pulling him behind your car. You watched helplessly as blood seeped from his multiple wounds, and the carmine fluid reminded you of the church candles at your last closed his unseeing eyes, and your medic helped you haul his body back to as the rain tapped angrily against your tent that night, you closed your eyes, and prayed.

Nine long months have passed. Your skin has blossomed from alabaster to a golden brown and freckles dot your shoulders and cheeks. Your hair is shorter, but continues to slip into your eyes as you bend over bones bleached like driftwood in the sun. Dr Marshall stands close to you, laughs at something you have said and pushes your hair back behind your ear. It is an intimate gesture and for a second you are stunned. You look up, into eyes that are the color of yours, at his closely cropped blonde hair, his wide smile and even white teeth. Your eyes clash together, and as the water laps the beach softly, and a gentle breeze swirls carelessly around the sky, he leans toward you, and kisses your cheek as you turn your head away.

His are not the eyes you dream of. His are not the arms you dream of holding you, and his Australian twang is not the voice you hear in your sleep, for still, you think of him.

She throws the ball and the dog runs eagerly to catch it, its galloping back legs almost overtaking its front. You laugh, for once feeling carefree. The assignment is nearly over, and your team remains solid, and alive, the one casualty, a shadow on your heart. Her name is Victoria. She is tall, angular, with long blonde hair she wears tied in a ponytail high on her head. She used to be just your type, and she has made no secret of her attraction to you. But something holds you back. Not something, someone, feel you deserve happiness. You feel you have atoned for too long. You ache to be rid of the emptiness inside, and as she meets your stare with intense green eyes, you lean forward, impulsively pressing your lips to hers. Your heart almost stops at the sensation of her lips sliding against yours. At the wisp of her perfume as she steps closer. For she is not the one. The one you are still hopelessly in love with, and as you lay in your tent, alone that night, the cold fingers of betrayal sweep over you, making you feel guilty for trying to move on.

To live your life...

You sit waiting. It is your last night. You are tired. Sick of sleeping under a canopy. Your dreams have haunted you for an entire year. And you finally walks across the sand carrying her baby brother, and you smile at his cherubic face, his pink lips a perfect cupid's bow and as he squeezes his chubby hand around your finger, you finally appreciate what has been missing from your life. You give Anila a present - a book you picked up at the local market, and her smile is like a rainbow over the sun. She wraps an arm around your neck, you inhale her sweet smell, press your nose to her hair, and she is gone, waving at you as her footsteps disappear in the open your journal, touch the stem of the gardenia she gave you, desiccated but ethereal in its beauty, and you hope he has not forgotten you.

Your team has thrown a party. You join in half heartedly but you cannot concentrate on the revelry. You walk outside the camp, into the heat of the early evening. The dog follows in your footsteps and you crouch down to rub his ears. You have found him a home, but you will miss him. He has been your confidante, your protector and your salvation through the empty hours of the morning where dawn did not herald a good day. You stare into the horizon, where the road meets the sun, and your heart beats faster, at the thought of her.

You walk along the sidewalk. It is cold, and you pull your cardigan tighter over your chest as the wind playfully rifles through your hair. You catch your reflection in a store window, your hand self consciously touches your new bangs. Impulsively you settled on a new look to signal a new you. You wonder if he will like it. You climb the steps and the reflecting pool stretches in front of you. The winter sun skims its surface and it looks like sleek marble. Memories assault you and you inhale sharply, pausing a second to compose yourself. You cannot believe the day you have waited for has finally arrived. The coffee cart stands forlorn in the corner, and you walk to it, purchase a cup, and walk towards the bench. Your hand cradles the hot liquid and its aroma is so familiar, you almost get a sense of déjà vu.

You turn and your breath catches in your throat. For twenty feet away, the sun blazing a halo around his shorn hair, he stands.

You arrive early, unable to sleep. You watch the sun climb the sky behind the monument. You walk the perimeter of the reflecting pool, glancing at the hollow shadows of your eyes in reflection. You alternate between equal amounts of fear and anticipation, and your heart pounds relentlessly against your sternum. You clutch your St Christopher as you look at the sky, all the while desperate for time to leap forward. You pass commuters on the sidewalk, the brightly colored apparel of the women making you feel as if you have lived in a monochrome world for the past year.

And then, you see her.

You stand on shaky legs, almost dropping the coffee cup you hold. He takes a step towards you and you mirror him, the pull between you as strong as it was that day in the airport. You keep walking, your pulse frantic, your mouth dry, until you stand before him, mere inches separating you. He appraises you, reaches out a trembling finger to touch your hair, and it is all it takes to break the dam. Tears slide down your face, you do not know why you are crying, you do not know if it is from happiness or relief, or something else entirely, all you know is that he is here, and you are whole.

You watch her walk up the stairs. You watch her buy her coffee. You watch her take a seat on the cold stone. You watch her sip her coffee, and your heart is delirious with joy. You rake your eyes over every inch of her. She has lost weight, but her chest and hips still retain her womanly curves. You watch her watch you and you feel a rush of emotion, of love, sadness, relief, familiarity and homesickness in one. She is your world, and you walk towards her on shaky legs.

The second your eyes connect, you know, that _eventually_, is now.

You step closer to him. You have missed him so much you want to unzip his skin and step inside. You wrap your arms around his neck and his hands soothe circles over your back as he whispers in your ear. The platitudes are not enough. You have learned a lot about yourself and you need to let him know. You lean back, look into the eyes that have haunted your dreams for so long and the words don't come. Instead you take his chin in both hands, swipe the pad of your thumb gently over the shadows under his eyes and you press your lips softly against his.

She feels wonderful in your arms. She presses closer and her you want her closer still. She smells the same, that perfume that is unique to her, and jasmine scented hair. You feel her tears sliding down your neck and you are surprised to feel your own eyes are wet. Your heart palpitates at her proximity, before orbiting at the press of her pillowy lips.

You are home.

You walk to your car. Your entwine your fingers around his and are amazed by how right it feels. You talk quietly about your work, constantly stopping to look into his eyes, to reassure yourself that this is real. He cooks you pasta as you sit on your sofa, your legs curled underneath you. You spend hours together and you feel as if time has speeded up, that the sun has accelerated its path across the pearly sky. You watch his face as he stares at you so intensely you can see the flecks of hazel in his eyes, and when he kisses you for the first time you respond with a passion that surprises you both. You watch him undress you. Enjoy the dichotomy of his tanned hands against your paler skin. You undress him, peeling off the layers to reveal the sculpted form of his musculature underneath. He has lost weight, his muscles are more defined and he gasps when you trace their curves with your tongue. You find you delight in making him gasp. You wonder, as he stands before you naked, whether he thought of you, alone in his tent, his hands moving over his body... and then he enters you and you experience the exquisite connection you have dreamed of so long. You whisper you love him, as he brings you to ecstasy, and he calls you baby all, night, long...

Finis!


End file.
